


a happy place in which to dwell

by elisela



Series: No Sincerer Love [5]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Eddie Diaz Week 2020, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: “Move in with us,” he interrupts, looking up at her. “Abuela, you don’t even like El Paso, you always complain if Dad hovers too much, and you know he will. Mom will drive you crazy after a week, and—we’d miss you too much. Give us a few weeks to clear out the guest room and it can be yours. Please.”
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: No Sincerer Love [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714489
Comments: 33
Kudos: 517
Collections: Eddie Diaz Week 2020





	a happy place in which to dwell

**Author's Note:**

> [Eddie Diaz Week](http://eddiediazweek.tumblr.com) Day 3! 
> 
> This is part of [No Sincerer Love](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714489) and takes place after they're married.

Eddie glances at his watch, tries not to drum his fingers on the table, and squints at what’s left of the pan dulce on his plate, trying to figure out how irritated Abuela will be if he shoves it all in his mouth and makes an excuse to leave. She’s been hinting that she has something she needs to tell him and he wants to listen, he does—just maybe not when his shift starts in twenty-seven minutes and it takes him twenty-five to get from her house to the station.

He should have let Buck bring Chris after all.

Abuela sighs as she pours herself a cup of coffee. “Can I make you breakfast, Eddie? I have some eggs around here, I can scramble them if you like.”

“Abuela, come sit down,” he says, using his foot to push out a chair and grimacing when she fixes him with a look that clearly tells him what she thinks of him putting his boots on her furniture. “Buck already made us breakfast, you don’t need to worry about that.”

She settles into the chair and pats the hand he has laying on the table. “I thank God every day that you found someone to care of you.”

Eddie breathes in, and out. “Me too,” he says, though it’s forced and she knows it, “but I was doing fine with Chris before we met Buck.” It’s not untrue—Chris has always been his first priority, and he was taking care of him just fine. He’ll be the first to agree that Buck has made their lives better, but he dislikes the insinuation that he can’t take care of his kid on his own. 

“I said nothing about Christopher,” Abuela says, sipping from her coffee cup. “You’re a great father, mijo.”

Eddie takes a breath, picks up the last piece of pan dulce and rips it in half, popping one in his mouth and pushing his chair back. “I gotta get to work, Abuela. I’ll be back at—”

“I’m going to be moving back to El Paso,” she says.

He sits back down, hard. He’d assumed that Abuela would need help with something, that she needed a favor—the deck’s been sagging, he’s pretty sure half the tiles on the roof should be replaced, and Chris had mentioned her car making odd noises—he never saw this coming. 

He’s quiet, mind racing, trying to come to terms with it while she continues talking. “It’s getting too much for me, Edmundo, trying to keep up this whole house, and with my eyes getting worse, I don’t feel safe driving all the time. I can’t ask people to drive me around all day, or to come help me all the time, so when your Dad offered—“

“Move in with us,” he interrupts, looking up at her. “Abuela, you don’t even like El Paso, you always complain if Dad hovers too much, and you know he will. Mom will drive you crazy after a week, and—we’d miss you too much. Give us a few weeks to clear out the guest room and it can be yours. Please.”

When she looks up, he can see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “That’s a lot to ask of you,” she says, and he cuts her off again. 

“I’m the one asking,” he says. “And it’s not just for Chris—he’s old enough to be on his own, as much as I don’t like it—it’s for me, I want you to stick around. And I think Buck would cry if you guys had to stop having your weekly dates.”

He wonders if she had already been hoping he would offer, because she capitulates much faster than he had thought she would. “If you’re sure,” she says, grabbing onto his hand. 

He turns his palm over and squeezes. “I’m sure,” he says. “Did you have a timeline?”

“I need to pack this place up and sell it first,” she says, gesturing around the room with her free hand. “However long it takes, Eddie. Now, off to work. Go. Take the box of pan dulce for your husband.”

He accepts the kiss on his cheek before he gets up from his chair, bends down to kiss her forehead before he yells goodbye to his son and jogs out the door and down the driveway, praying the whole way that traffic is somehow better than usual. It’s not—it’s worse, in fact, and he’s muttering curses under his breath as he pulls up. The alarm is ringing as he slides out of his truck, and by the time he has his bag and the box of pastries secure in his arms, he can see Buck and Bobby hopping into the ladder truck. 

“You okay?” Buck yells as the engine starts up, over his shoulder, he can see Bobby’s raised eyebrows. He gives him a thumbs up, knowing he won’t be heard over the noise, and Buck slaps his hand down once on the outside of the truck and nods.

By the time he’s changed into his uniform and sets the pastries on the kitchen counter, Buck has already texted him an update from the scene: _false alarm. The fire the neighbor saw was candles. Didn’t bother knocking on the door or anything, just called 911 and left._

He rolls his eyes and starts to write a response, then stops—as soon as he’d written Abuela’s name out, it had hit him. 

He’d told her to move in before he’d talked to Buck about it. 

He looks at the phone screen, thinks about how to phrase it, and closes the messaging app in favor of calling Abuela. “Hey,” he says when she answers, “do you think you could teach me how to make your oxtail soup? Why? Uh, no reason. Just wanted to make it for Buck—our anniversary is coming up.”

He knows Buck won’t say no; he adores Abuela. He’s been going over there once a week for years now, and Eddie is pretty sure that if Buck had been there this morning, he would have suggested it as well. But he would have talked to Eddie about it first, not just blurted it out the first time he thought about it. So cooking is an apology of sorts, but he just hopes it will be enough to soften the blow of knowing his husband forgot to ask him about something that will cause a big change in how they live. 

Eddie’s probably going to need to figure out something in addition to dinner, come to think of it. 

* * *

Buck had started teaching Eddie to cook years ago, before they had gotten married. He’s at least competent now; there are things he can do well enough that Chris will sometimes request him to cook something instead of Buck (though he does wonder if that’s just to make him feel better), but Buck still cooks ninety percent of what they eat. 

Still, Eddie’s pretty confident when he heads to Abuela’s a few days later. He feels like he knows enough basic components that he can figure it out.

But it turns out that Abuela is a much, much harsher teacher than Buck had been. 

“I said _roast_ them, Eddie, not warm them up,” she snaps, forcing the poblano pepper he’s holding back over the flame of the gas stove. “You’re a fireman, you should know how to burn things.”

He clenches his jaw, tight. “Yes, Abuela,” he says. So far, he’s been wrong about how much salt to use on the meat and how to dice the onion. If it wasn’t Buck’s favorite soup, he’d have already given up. 

His evening doesn’t get much better, but at least he walks away with some approximation of measurements and a new appreciation for his husband. He leaves the soup with Abuela, not wanting the one he makes to be tainted with his frustration of being treated like a child for an hour, and picks up a pizza on the way home. 

Buck’s Jeep pulls into the driveway just after he opens the front door, and Eddie stops in the doorway, holding the door open with his hip while his boys shut the car doors. Chris bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s as he walks by, smiling; Eddie still can’t believe that, at thirteen, Chris is only a few inches shorter than he is. Buck comes in a minute behind him, tossing his work bag inside and leaning in to kiss Eddie. 

“Missed you,” he says when he pulls back, reaching out a hand to cup Eddie’s cheek, his thumb rubbing against Eddie’s lower lip. 

“You were with me all day,” Eddie says, unable to help the smile stretching across his face. “I saw you three hours ago.”

“Still missed you,” Buck says, giving him a half smile before he steps closer and wraps his other arm around Eddie’s waist. “You trying to say you didn’t miss me?” 

“Barely had a chance to, Buck,” he says, so close that his lips brush against Buck’s as he talks. He tilts his chin up and kisses him, relaxing his body at the way Buck holds onto him, all the tension from earlier gone. 

They’ve only been married for three years and Eddie’s pretty sure that means the honeymoon phase is over, but Buck only seems to get more affectionate as time goes on. Eddie teases him for it, but the more Buck gives him, the more he wants. It reminds him of Abuelo, at times—Eddie was still a child when he passed, but his memories of his grandfather have always centered around how much he loved Abuela. It wasn’t unusual to find them dancing in the kitchen as Eddie and his sisters tore around the house, causing havoc in every room, serenading her as the family gathered around the fire pit at night, or sitting with his arm around her in the car during Sunday drives. 

Buck’s tongue sweeps along his lower lip, he opens his mouth slightly, kissing him deeper as he slides his free arm over Buck’s shoulder and pulls him closer. Buck bites down gently on his lip before turning his head away. “Chris! Come get the pizza!” and Eddie laughs against his mouth when he turns to kiss him again. 

“We can go inside,” he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. Buck doesn’t bother responding, just tightens the arm he has around Eddie’s waist and continues to kiss him, his thumb scraping against the stubble along his jaw. 

“Why can’t Dad—ugh,” he hears Chris say, and a few seconds later the pizza box is pulled from his hand. “I’m an innocent child, I shouldn’t have to see this.”

Eddie laughs; Buck pulls away long enough to mutter, “teenagers are so dramatic,” before he dips his head to kiss Eddie’s neck, sucking lightly at his collarbone. 

“Gets it from you,” Eddie says, wrapping his arm around Buck’s waist. Buck’s hips shift against his; Eddie feels him, hard against his leg, and Buck lets out a quiet moan next to his ear. “You _did_ miss me,” he teases. 

“You just look so damn _good_ , baby,” Buck breathes into his ear, and Eddie needs to get them out of this doorway and into their bedroom immediately, dinner be damned.

“Let’s get this uniform off you,” he says as he drops his arms and wraps his hand around Buck’s wrist, sliding out of his grip and pulling Buck along after him as he walks in the house and turns down the hallway to their bedroom. “Think I must have missed you after all.”

* * *

On their next day off, he sends Buck and Chris out to the museum after lunch with strict instructions not to fill up on junk before dinner, then fakes a call from Abuela when Buck starts asking questions and pushes them out the door. He follows Abuela’s instructions to buy the meat from the carnicería instead of the supermarket, then has to go back out to the store a second time anyway when he returns home and realizes he’s out of ziploc bags. 

Finally, an hour later, he’s ready to start. 

He glances at the bulletin board on the wall, where a note from Buck has been stuck for the last three and a half years, titled _Eddie’s Kitchen Rules_ :

READ THE RECIPE ALL THE WAY THROUGH FIRST

NOT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE COOKED ON HIGH

Buck had taken it down years ago, and Eddie had stuck it right back up. He follows the advice now, looking down at the list of ingredients and making sure he has everything sitting out, and reading through to make sure he remembers every step, and then he gets to work. 

He follows Abuela’s measurements precisely, despite her telling him he would know by how it smells—it smells _good_ , he can tell that much, but he’s never been able to figure out what spices are needed just by the smell—he can hardly figure that out by taste, sometimes. He’s kind of relying on Buck’s advice of adding salt if something is off, or trying lemon juice. He really hopes it doesn’t get to that, though. 

He blames his anxiety on what he does next: unable to keep his hands from poking at the oxtail, which is exactly what Abuela told him not to do, he pulls out everything he needs for flour tortillas and gets to work. They don’t go with the soup, but Buck has always been a sucker for homemade tortillas. They’ve made them together before, but he somehow manages to make a much bigger mess on his own. Either way, by the time his phone chimes with a text alerting him that his boys are on the way home, Eddie has his soup almost done and a stack of slightly misshapen tortillas keeping warm in the oven. 

He’s setting the table when he hears the front door open; a moment later, Chris and Buck are standing over the stove, peeking into the pot on the stove and muttering.

“I used a recipe,” he says in greeting, and smiles as Buck replaces the lid, looking sheepish. He crosses the room and squeezes Christopher’s shoulder, wishing for a moment that his kid wasn’t going through a teenage ‘I don’t need hugs from my parents’ phase, and leans into Buck, kissing him on the cheek when his arm settles around Eddie’s waist.

“Is this Abuela’s soup?” Chris asks, looking apprehensive. The things he trusts Eddie to make on his own have never included any of Abuela’s recipes, and Eddie rolls his eyes at the question.

Buck gives Chris a look before Eddie can respond. “Eddie, it smells great. What can we do?”

“Just wash up, it’s all done,” he says. The moment Chris is out of the room, Buck’s hands are on him and Eddie finds himself being backed up against the refrigerator, Buck’s mouth dragging along the underside of his jaw, fingers pushing up the hem of his shirt and sliding underneath. “Jesus,” he mutters, sliding his hands into Buck’s hair, “what’s gotten into you lately?” 

“Just really in love with you,” Buck says, and the low pitch of his voice sends a shiver to the base of Eddie’s spine. One of his hands is stroking up and down the small of Eddie’s back, fingernails scratching lightly while the other clutches at his hip. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Eddie says, sliding his hand up to where Buck’s hair is longer and using it to pull his head back; when Buck groans, Eddie almost forgets what he was going to say, “but you’ve been in love with me for years, so that doesn’t really explain much.” He keeps Buck’s hair fisted in his hand and uses it to pull him to just the right angle, holding him so Eddie can find the spot on his neck that makes Buck shudder underneath him and pressing a kiss there, running his tongue over the skin.

“Didn’t know I needed a reason,” Buck says, “but unless dinner can wait—”

Eddie pulls Buck’s mouth towards him and kisses him, hard at first before backing off, sucking on Buck’s bottom lip for a second. He presses more kisses against his husband’s lips, chaste and soft, easing the grip he has on Buck’s hair and sliding his hand down to his neck. 

Buck sighs against him, dropping his forehead onto Eddie’s shoulder. “Guess I couldn’t get lucky two nights in a row,” he says, and Eddie can hear the amusement in his voice.

“You’ll get lucky later,” Eddie whispers, winking when Buck pulls back and looks at him before huffing out a laugh and stepping away. 

They settle at the table a few minutes later; he’s pretty sure Buck is overdoing it on the praise he heaps on Eddie for the soup, but even Chris begrudgingly admits it’s close to Abuela’s. He listens as they tell him about their museum trip and the seventeen plans they’ve already made for their next day off, and it’s not until Buck asks what inspired him to make dinner for them that Eddie remembers he still has to actually tell Buck what he did. 

“It’s just that you don’t usually cook unless it’s a special occasion,” Buck adds as the silence stretches out. 

“Yeah, I—” Eddie rubs the back of his neck, grimacing, “I just wanted to do something nice for you because—well, what do you think about Abuela moving in with us?”

Buck’s face brightens. “I think it’s great,” he says, sliding his phone out of his pocket and swiping it open. “Look, Chris and I even checked out some listings, they all have open houses soon so I thought we could go check them out. You know how smart our kid is, Eddie? He thinks we should get a new place with one of those mother-in-law units so Abuela can still have her own space, isn’t that thoughtful?” He beams across the table at Chris. 

Eddie feels like he’s had a sudden case of whiplash. “Wait, you—you’ve been looking at houses? I—who told you—?”

“I did,” Chris says. He looks between the two of them, a vaguely guilty look on his face. “Dad, was it a secret? I didn’t know—”

“Of course it wasn’t a secret,” Buck says quickly. “Your Dad just forgot to tell me, Chris, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not?” 

Buck looks over at him and laughs, then smothers it in a smile. “Eddie,” he says, softly, fondly, “of course it’s not.”

“I—” he stops, frowning. As relieved as he is that Buck apparently isn’t upset with him, not telling your spouse about a life-changing decision should count as a big deal. “Buck—”

“Stop trying to get me to be upset, Eds, it’s not happening.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment longer before letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “Buck—I don’t know what we did to deserve you, but—”

“I’m going to be excused now,” Chris announces, pushing his chair back and grabbing for his crutches. “You can clear my plate since you forced me to leave so I wouldn’t have to witness what’s about to happen.”

“We have a very loving, healthy relationship,” Buck calls to Chris’ retreating figure. 

“Have it in a bedroom,” Chris calls back.

Eddie’s pretty sure his jaw hits the floor, but when he looks at Buck, he’s met with laughter. “Oh come on, Eddie,” Buck says, reaching out and poking him in the shoulder. “Didn’t you talk about sex when you were his age?”

“Not with my _parents_ ,” Eddie says, trying to will away the flush that he knows is spreading across his cheeks. “Not that _casually_ , Jesus, I hope you two and Abuela are going to be able to get along without me because I’m pretty sure I’m going into cardiac arrest.”

“And you said he gets the drama from me,” Buck snorts, standing up and reaching for Chris’ abandoned plate. “But you know, now that he’s locked himself in his room, we could ...” Eddie groans, and Buck laughs. “I’m just kidding, sweetheart. Help me clean up and we can look at some of those house listings, if you like.”

Eddie stacks the rest of the dishes and follows him into the kitchen, tipping them into the sink and leaning against Buck’s back. “I am sorry that I didn’t ask you,” he says quietly; even if Buck’s not upset, he still feels like he should apologize. 

“I know,” Buck says, turning the faucet off and wiping his hands on a dish towel before turning around and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist, nuzzling his nose into Eddie’s neck. “I’ll let you make it up to me next time we have an empty house.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ [hearteyesforbuck](http://hearteyesforbuck.tumblr.com)


End file.
